Our fall has continued dry, yet yesterday morning I awoke to a thickness of fog hanging in the air. I grabbed my camera and drove about five miles north to one of our urban lakes. The further north I went the thinner the fog, until I arrived at the lake with blue skies and a beautiful sunrise. I was a bit bummed that I wasn’t getting the fog that I was hoping for, but I continued to photograph the lake and the fall colors. After about 30 minutes the setting changed, and the fog enveloped the far shore, then rolled across the lake from south to north. The atmosphere was just what I was hoping for. As I waited the fisherman moved closer to the point and I made this image. Two minutes later the fog had thickened even more and the fisherman was not visible and the even the reflections were hidden behind the fog. As fleeting and unpredictable as it can be, I love the ethereal and softening effect that fog can give to an image.
fishing
Seeing the familiar with fresh eyes
As I set out on my bicycle early this morning the temperature was already in the 70’s and the air was thick and humid. I was thinking about our recent 500-mile ride across Kansas and how this morning’s 20-mile ride wasn’t much in comparison. All of the scenery across Kansas was new to me – the beauty of the plains and the rolling hills have left a mark on me, and yet today’s ride was going to be over city streets that I’ve ridden so many times before. I set a goal to pay attention to the scenery and surroundings of today’s ride to see what I might find and experience. As I headed east into the sun I knew there was a slight curve ahead where the cemetery trees would be shading the road, but I was amazed at the rays of sunlight piercing through the leaves amidst the haze of the humidity. I continued on knowing that I’d be passing many lakes I’ve ridden by countless times. I passed this scene, then turned around and went back to photograph. In the quiet of the early morning two fishermen had a glass-like lake all to themselves — it reminded me of an old tourist postcard for the lakes of Minnesota. I thought about sitting in the chair and watching them, but I suspected there might be more scenes waiting for me ahead. I rode to a small prairie restoration area and was greeted by blooming butterfly milkweed and gray-headed coneflowers. I passed a lake that we have fished on many times, yet today there wasn’t a boat in sight. Instead there was flotilla of geese gliding quietly across the lake. A mile further down the road and I spotted a shy doe grazing on the far side of a pond — close enough to the woods to be able to run inside if she felt threatened. Feeling strong as I neared home I looked down and saw I was riding at 20 mph in a high cadence on a city street, much like the riding I’d enjoyed in the western flats of Kansas. All the experiences of my ride today were ones that I could have easily passed by and not noticed, but the intention of seeing with fresh eyes had brought me an appreciation for what was here for me today, in this place, now.
On the cusps of night and day
After record-breaking heat this past week we finally cooled down a bit yesterday. And with a Saturday evening with nothing to do we loaded the canoe on the car, grabbed our fishing rods, and headed out for some lake-time. As we put in to the water the winds died down, and as sunset approached we knew we were in for a treat. Our paddles whispered as they entered the water, the dragonflies were dancing over the surface, and we could glide over the lily pads in quiet. I would fish, then stop and photograph. I’d then put my camera away convinced that the sunset couldn’t get any better, only to pull it back out again. It was a wonderful way to end the day – the quiet of the lake and a mess of sunfish and crappies. And when this morning dawned with quiet and calm too, I headed out early on my bicycle for a quick ride. Like last night there was a great magic in the early hours. The birds were awakening, there was little traffic, the wildflowers were blooming by the sides of the road, and my bike tires sailed smoothly across the pavement. These truly are the “magic hours” and they make me appreciate all that is wonderful about this time and this place.
A summer bucket list
I have certain expectations and rites that I associate with the season of summer. My bucket list includes: (1) a baseball game with cold beer and popcorn, (2) putting the canoe in the water, (3) sharing a late-night bottle of wine on the deck, (4) eating cherry tomatoes fresh-picked from the vine, (5) watching a sunset, (6) a bicycle ride on an early Saturday morning that includes a stop for breakfast, (7) fishing (hopefully successfully!), (8) a chocolate malt from the dairy barn at the Minnesota State Fair, (9) swimming or wading or dangling my feet in a cool lake when the temperature is scorching, and (10) sleeping in a tent. Up until last week I’d checked off all my items except the last one, so my mission was to go camping. We ventured off to the southeast corner of Minnesota. Passing through acres and acres of corn and soybeans in the center of the state, we eventually came into the rolling hills and bluff country that’s to the west of the Mississippi River. The landscape is beautiful, with two-lane highways and county roads that curve and twist and go up to the tops of the bluffs and then sky-rocket down into the valleys. We found our way to a Minnesota State Park that’s nestled in one of those valleys – Beaver Creek Valley State Park. The park is situated so the creek flows right through it. Even to get to our tent site the road crossed the creek four different times. We weren’t driving on bridges, we were actually fording the creek and driving through it. We set up our tent at the base of a hillside nestled among the trees. Our days were spent hiking and exploring the park and the valley, along with this far southeastern corner of Minnesota. With all our outdoor activities, hot temps, and warm sunshine we slept well in our tent under the canopy of trees in the valley with the full moon high above in the sky. And just across the road from our campsite we could hear Beaver Creek, babbling its way throughout the campground and the valley.
First try at fly fishing
A few weeks ago I signed up for a fly fishing workshop that was jointly sponsored by the National Park Service, the Minnesota Department of Natural Resources, and the Federation of Fly Fishers. The event was targeted for beginners and was held at a nearby state park. Lasting about five hours it included information about the history of fishing, information about nymphs and flies, a casting demonstration, and a chance to tie your own fly. Then after lunch we were all loaned fly fishing rods and were able to get individualized help with our casting. This whole experience was new to me. Like many people, fly fishing seemed to me to be a great way to get out and enjoy the outdoors and I thought it might be another way to explore and enjoy my home state of Minnesota. So yesterday I purchased a fly fishing outfit (a rod and reel combination) and decided to try my luck today. This morning we headed out early with our canoe to a local lake. During all of my practice-casting at the workshop I had been standing up on dry land, and now today I was seated in the front of a canoe and trying to remember everything I’d been taught a few weeks ago. My first cast was a little weak, but I told myself I was just a beginner and I was using a new rod and reel for the first time. My second cast looked much better, but even more surprising was that I caught a fish! Of course at the workshop we hadn’t been given any instruction in how to reel a fish in or how to land it. And this fish was bending my new rod and trying to swim under the canoe. With some great assistance and coaching, I was able to bring in my first large-mouth bass — a whopping two-pounder. OK, maybe not whopping, but this fish did it’s job of “hooking” me on fly fishing. Although we didn’t have much luck the rest of the morning, I could always think of that second cast and landing a bass. Later this afternoon I was reading a fishing article in the newspaper. The writer referred to a saying that I would agree with: “The hours spent fishing are not deducted from your lifetime.” I had just spent a blue-sky summer morning on a Minnesota lake with my canoeing and fishing partner, and had even had some fishing success.
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